


And The Sparkle of The Snow Reflected In Your Eyes

by kahootqueen69



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, In a way, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sickfic, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Tenderness, listen i just like the thought of stephen taking care of alex a little, showing how tender he can be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29401092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahootqueen69/pseuds/kahootqueen69
Summary: “Alexander?” came Stephen’s voice in return from the hallway, just around the corner. “Where are you?”“In here—the parlour.”Though he had already heard his voice, it still eased his heart terribly to see the familiar features of the tall man come into view as he instinctively ducked to avoid a collision between the doorframe and his head, even though these days that was no longer necessary. What also helped were the few white specks of snow that had found a place in Stephen’s light hair.“I had thought you might still be in bed,resting,” said Stephen in a solemn tone as he stepped around the back of the settee.“I have been resting,” hummed Alexander with a small smile, following Stephen with his gaze as he hitched up his trousers and kneeled next to him. “Only not in bed.”For Terror Rarepair Week 2021, day six:Opposites attract
Relationships: Alexander McDonald/Stephen S. Stanley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23
Collections: The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	And The Sparkle of The Snow Reflected In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I was initially going to post something else, but halfway through writing it realised I didn't actually like it and instead this formed itself in my phone's notes app at like,,, 4am-6am. Soooo enjoy! jsdfjfdj

The sound of the door falling to a close and the stomping of boots on wood were what startled him from his slumber, opening his eyes to the brown beams overhead from where he lay on his back. He waited for the falling-like sensation as the bow of the ship dipped on the waves of the rough waters they currently found themselves in, but it did not come. Had they arrived in port so soon already?

As he blinked the last dregs of sleep from his eyes and turned his head to the side, he realised his mistake: the beams above and the small surface of the settee’s cushions below had made it seem like he was still on ship in his bunk, when he was, in fact, in lodgings in central London.

Even as he placed an elbow on the seating to very gingerly prop himself up so as to be able to see just over the edge of the settee, he had to repress a soft hiss as the newly closed wound protested the movement. “Stephen?” he called towards the entrance.

 _Their_ lodgings.

“Alexander?” came Stephen’s voice in return from the hallway, just around the corner. “Where are you?”

“In here—the parlour.”

Though he had already heard his voice, it still eased his heart terribly to see the familiar features of the tall man come into view as he instinctively ducked to avoid a collision between the doorframe and his head, even though these days that was no longer necessary. What also helped were the few white specks of snow that had found a place in Stephen’s light hair.

“I had thought you might still be in bed, _resting_ ,” said Stephen in a solemn tone as he stepped around the back of the settee.

“I have been resting,” hummed Alexander with a small smile, following Stephen with his gaze as he hitched up his trousers and kneeled next to him. “Only not in bed.”

“You should be,” Stephen countered bluntly, though the hand on Alexander’s arm and the look on his face suggested only kind concern.

“Let me check your sutures?”

Alexander nodded. At first, as he placed one hand at his back and got a hold of the back of the settee with the other and—with effort—attempted to pull himself upright, he motioned for Stephen not to help—“I want to do this myself. I will have to, at some point in time”—but by the time he was halfway up he was glad Stephen had decided not to follow him up on his wishes, after all.

“I checked them myself this morning, but if it puts your mind to rest…” he said softly when he was sat upright, a hand to his side and a weak smile in attempt of showing he was really alright.

“I don’t know why you insist on this,” Stephen muttered softly as he undid the top button of Alexander’s trousers before carefully tugging the shirt free. “How have you even managed to dress yourself?”

With a smile tugging on the corners of his lips, Alexander raised an eyebrow. “The same way I have for the past week, only much more slowly.”

“Without my help?”

“As I said—much more slowly.”

Shaking his head, Stephen glanced up at Alexander to, presumably, give him a stern, chiding look to make it known he did not approve, but his expression softened as soon as he noticed the growing smile on his face. “Hold your shirt up?” he asked instead, handing Alexander the hem of his shirt before carefully unwrapping the bandages.

While looking at the relatively new sutures that stretched over Alexander’s abdomen and ended just below his chest, Stephen pulled at the ends of the gloves he now kept on at nearly all times to loosen them before taking them off, revealing the burn scars on his hands that stretched up over a portion of his forearms that he had been left with. They no longer shocked Alexander as much as when he had first seen the results of what the combustion of the vat Stephen had been standing next to had been; Both for the fact that he had seen far worse during his career as a surgeon, and for the fact that it was _Stephen_ , who touched him with so gentle a hand.

“Ah—”

“Sorry—Does that hurt?”

“No, no.” Alexander chuckled. “I am aware what they say of doctors having cold hands, but I’d say yours are quite the icicles, my dear man.”

Stephen’s face went directly from worried to positively sour.

“Unless your memory has been affected as well as your stomach, I think you may recall I have just been outside.”

He was right, of course—Alexander knew as well as he did; It was dreadful weather out this time of year. The heavy snowfall had begun somewhat a month ago now, and had kept up for most part of that period. It had only let up about two weeks—maybe less—ago, allowing a few sunbeams to fight their way through the heavy pack of dark clouds that had taken a brief pause of a couple days from spitting out snow, providing for quite the pretty picture outdoors. The streets and rooftops were covered in snow, not an inch left that was not transformed into a white canvas, resulting in quite the crowd going out to enjoy the relative warmth the sun granted them and appreciate the view that came with the time of year, which was exactly what led to their current state—or rather: _Alexander’s_ current state.

Having gone out onto the streets for a walk after being cooped up inside for so long, arm in arm, bundled up in their warmest coats and scarfs, they had perhaps ought to be more careful in their step—especially considering their being _Arctic veterans_. But then again, a little London snow was hardly to be compared to the freezing conditions they had only just returned from, was it not? And that attitude was precisely what had led to Alexander slipping and falling at a dangerous angle, and had resulted in the reopening of the then-closed knife wound Hickey had gifted him by accident in the chaos of the Carnivale fire, with an added bonus of a few bruised ribs on the side.

It was embarrassing, really, and Alexander could laugh of it now—softly, so as not to irritate his ribs—but Stephen could not. Really all it had done for him was give him a near heart attack as he noticed the blood seeping through Alexander’s shirt as he examined him, and aggravated his dislike for Arctic weather, even if it was merely London-sized.

“Speaking of—where have you been?” Alexander asked, trying his hardest not to squirm under the cold touch of Stephen’s hands. “You left so early, I wasn’t yet awake.”

“Well, seeing as you’re in no state to do it yourself, I went to post those letters you’d written—Does this hurt?” He very gently pressed two fingers onto Alexander’s abdomen, near the wound, who made a small noise of discomfort.

“Only a little—And you are sweet,” Alexander said endearingly, briefly laying a hand atop Stephen’s. “I do hope they reach Harry in time before the ship leaves port.”

Pausing for a moment, he considered Stephen’s face as he looked at him, and squinted. “But you have been gone far longer than it would take you to reach the post office and return back home,” he added with a cautious smile.

Stephen blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I can tell that you do!” Alexander laughed, and immediately reached for his sides as a wave of pain rippled through his chest.

Stephen’s hands instinctively wrapped themselves around Alexander’s as he visibly flinched. “Be careful, Alex!” he hissed.

“I can hardly help it, now can I?” chuckled Alexander softly with a frown as he willed himself to relax his muscles.

“Fine—I will tell you if it stops you from acting like a court’s jester and hurting yourself: I had thought to find you something to do when you’d grown tired of my company while you rest and heal, but I have to admit I haven’t got the faintest clue as to what that should be,” Stephen blurted out. His cheeks had been flushed when he’d come in, but now they had taken on an even brighter shade of pink that was most certainly not related to the cold.

“Oh, Stephen— Ah— That does not help,” chuckled Alexander, biting his lip.

Stephen’s nostrils flared up as he rolled his eyes and looked away to the side, his lips a thin line as he pressed them together.

“Do look at me,” Alexander said with a fondness that could only be directed at Stephen, and smiled as he cupped his cheek. Stephen’s hand folded over his own with ease, their fingers entangling themselves of their own accord as they looked at each other.

“However much I adore the gesture, I am happy you haven’t found anything. There is no _“when I grow tired of you”_ —I should be so happy to have your ever-present companionship.”

There was a moment where Stephen only looked up at Alexander, examining his face like he would the sutures on his stomach, looking for any irregularities; something about him that might be off—that might tell him he was being dishonest. But it must have seemed he did not find any, for the beginnings of a smile pulled at his lips as he nodded. When he caught himself, he cleared his throat and nodded again, towards the slowly-healing wound that stretched over Alexander’s skin.

“Erm— Wound is healing nicely,” he stated, which he no doubt attempted to have sounded very doctorly and calm and collected, if it were not for the rough edge to his voice.

“I would hope so, and that it stays closed this time round—this is the third time it’s needed stitching.”

Alexander’s hand had not moved from Stephen’s cheek, remaining there as his smile for the man remained on his lips, as well as his love. “Come here,” he said softly, and tilted Stephen’s head up to pull him in for a kiss.

It was not nearly a surprising thing for the slowness with which he moved, but Alexander revelled in the small, tender noise Stephen made at receiving it, at any rate. The soft press of their lips against one another was a thing he estimated he would never tire of, not within a month or a year’s time—not ever. Neither would he tire of the weight of Stephen’s tongue on his, comforting in a way he could not yet explain, but craved for it all the more.

When he pulled away for air, he could not resist a light brush of their noses together.

“You need to rest,” said Stephen softly after a moment, looking at him with the same kind concern Alexander had loved to see in him more and more since their return—since they were _safe_. It was like witnessing the thawing of the thick pack of ice, where, slowly and piece by piece, glimpses of his true nature shone through—of what Alexander had always seen in him where others did not.

“Read to me?” Alexander asked as Stephen wound the bandages back around his waist. He quirked an eyebrow as he showed his most charming smile, that the both of them very well knew would most definitely result in Stephen caving and Alexander getting what he wanted. “I will rest as you wish, but it’s far more enjoyable with you here.”

Stephen scoffed and shook his head. “Your fortitude to stay out of bed is truly impressive, Alex—You can rub your own back when you begin to gripe of it.”

“Oh, hardly,” Alexander quipped, “I will hardly feel any of it with these old battered ribs of mine.”

“That is not nearly as funny as you think it to be,” Stephen informed him with a raised brow as he got back on his feet with a grumble. “You had about caused me to have a fit.”

“Mmn, perhaps—and I do apologise,” murmured Alexander. He could not help a smile from curling his lips again when Stephen picked up the book he had been reading recently from the small table near the settee, and sat down next to him on the patterned cushions.

Helping him to scoot over slowly and carefully before laying down, Stephen said, “The bandages will need changing, later.”

“We have a while yet,” Alexander grunted softly as he lay his head on Stephen’s lap, and sighed with relief. “You’ll wake me when it’s time, will you not, dear?” he hummed, gazing upwards at Stephen with eyes that sparkled with his love for him.

Stephen only hummed before opening the book to find where he had left off, but the hint of a smile was not lost on Alexander, who happily rested his eyes for a moment longer.

“You are sweet,” he murmured a last time, the last thing he felt before he dozed off being Stephen brushing his unruly forelock out of his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/kahootqueen69) :)


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